


Late

by messier51



Series: Tired Tropes [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Guardian Angel Castiel, Imaginary Friend, Kidfic, POV Dean Winchester, Sad Ending, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier51/pseuds/messier51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean was a kid, he had an imaginary friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late

**Author's Note:**

> Posted originally on tumblr [here](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120413089572/kidfic-kidfic) for the [tired tropes](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120138934007/ceeainthereforthat-defilerwyrm-why-settle) prompt: "Kidfic? kidfic!"

Dean Winchester is almost five years old and he knows, irrevocably, that the world is not a safe place. He knew that sometimes Dad could be mean, but Mom was… Mom was untouchable. Perfect. Nothing could ever hurt her, not really.

In the following months Dean cries, holds himself against every soft surface he can find, and finds no comfort. He learns three coping skills: do what you’re told, pretend everything is fine, and above all else, protect Sammy.

* * *

 

Dean is seven and Sammy is asleep on one of the matching pair of motel beds. Dean wishes he were asleep. Or dead. He’d be puking but it’s not like he’s eaten anything all day, so he settles for curling up in the bottom of the tub, and thinks maybe he will die.

The flicker of the bathroom lights rouses Dean from his stupor and he thinks, yeah, I must be dying, and I hope Sammy sleeps ‘til Dad gets home because that thing’s got to be an angel and I’m going to heaven and I’ll get to see Mom…

But when the glowing shape comes down to the edge of the bathtub and resolves itself, the room goes dark again. Dean’s still in the bottom of the tub, and now he just feels humiliated for letting anyone see him crying. The boy looks about the same age as Dean in the dark. He blinks, and the bathroom lights come on.

Dean can see big blue eyes and brownish hair peeking just over the offwhite of the tub’s sidewall. One pudgy hand reaches up over the barrier between them, and Dean shrinks back as far as he can. The tips of the child’s fingertips brush against Dean’s nose. The boys’ eyes go impossibly wider, before he stumbles back and disappears, leaving the bathroom cold and dark again.

Dean is too tense and tired to realize that he’s no longer in pain, and he falls asleep in the tub.

* * *

 

Dean is twelve and he’s seen what he’s come to think of as his “imaginary friend” three times now: in the crappy motel bathroom when he’d been half-starved and sick, in a grocery store when he was sure the entire shelf was going to topple over himself and Sam when he was 8, and the night they don’t talk about when Dad came home drunk. He’s never said a word before.

Tonight, the boy stands in front of Dean with his hand outstretched and says the only words Dean’s ever wanted to hear, “You need to leave now, come away with me.”

Dean stares. He thinks about saying yes. The streetlight above them flickers, and it makes Dean unreasonably angry. He slaps the boy’s hand away and turns to go back to Sam, back to Dad.

“You’re too late.”

Dean walks away. He never sees his imaginary friend again.


End file.
